Broken Pianos and Golden Lockets
by barefoot11
Summary: It is three-oh-six in the morning, and her boyfriend had been due home at seven last night." Human names used, fem!Prussia/fem!Canada, Russia/fem!Canada, Austria/fem!Prussia, song!fic, AU


How boring. Sitting there, with nothing to do but pretend to listen to a monotone voice.

To Gillian, it simply isn't fair. It isn't justified; it is barely even _possible_. Doodling mindlessly on her paper, she attempts to find something else to distract her wondering eyes. She could get lost in her thoughts, but physical things are much more interesting.

Like the person sitting before her, her best friend, Matilda.

Gillian had never taken time to observe the other, per say, and she figures better late than never.

The first thing she notices – well, not really notices, since she had been told this a while before – is of how Matilda wears those thin glasses that obscure her eyes, making the startling purple hue less noticeable. The sleeves of her sweaters always reach inches past her fingers, and she constantly fiddles with one of the stray stands to ease her anxious tendencies. Also, the sweater hangs like mist from her shoulders, preventing anymore than a basic outline of her body to show. As for her hair – long, blonde, with a slight strawberry-blonde hint to it – it is either completely tied up, so people can only guess what magnificent waves it harbored, or it is released down her back, showing waves and dainty curls. As for jewelry, she is quaint – with simple silver hoops, or small pearls.

_I love that lavender blonde_

And always, without fail, there is that golden heart locket that hangs from her neck. The string it is tied about is extremely thin, and shows up like sparkles on her skin. Within the heart, Gillian knows what is in it, since she had been there.

Matilda had gotten the locket four years ago, but hadn't begun wearing it until a year ago – when her father died. After the funeral, Matilda had placed a photograph within the golden frame, but had never let Gillian see it.

Gillian figures that it might have been the last picture she had of her father and was too personal to show. She doesn't press the issue.

Pulled from her musings, Gillian realizes that the idiot-boss (her brother) is actually releasing them _early_. It is a first, and she isn't about to let it go. She rises, and carefully watches as Matilda does the same.

_The way she moves_

Holding her extremely colored on notes, Gillian moves toward her, an irritated look on her face. "Bor-ing," she exclaims, stretching her arms above her head. Her friend only reaches up to her shoulder, so she has to glance downward. "We didn't need to know all of that stuff, did we?"

Matilda chides with her voice as low and soft as normal, "We don't need to know the fire escape roots and the proper ways to act during emergencies?" She raises an eyebrow, thinking back to her two pages of diligent notes.

"Yeah," she reluctantly mumbles, a scowl on her lips, having being caught in the act of blanking out. She adverts her eyes, and plans on stealing the other's notes later.

Matilda emits a laugh, and says, "Fire's too awesome to hurt you, isn't it?"

Gillian brightens. "Exactly, that's it!"

Matilda nods. "Thought so," she sighs, a smirk transforming her mouth. But she gives a distracted, "Um…" and moves to the side. "Oh, Gill, I've got to go. I'll, um, see you later, I think?"

Though a bit perplexed about the sudden absence, she just bobs her head in the positive. "Well, yeah, sure. Do what you want."

"Yep," is the distant and slightly transparent reply, as Matilda moves down the opposite hallway.

_The way she walks_

Determinedly, Gillian runs to her brother, pulling on his arm, nagging him to make the meetings shorter next time.

_Can't get enough_

* * *

How had things gotten so horrible? Had her extremely sour karma finally caught up to her? Gillian feels like screaming, as she watches the clock tick again.

It is three-oh-six in the morning, and her boyfriend had been due home at seven _last night_.

She sits on their shared bed, swinging her legs angrily, crossing her arms and refusing to admit to the denial floating in her mind. He had probably just gotten in a car accident, or something, she figures, and he'd call saying why he was so late. He'd apologize like the pansy he was, and everything would be over with.

_And in the silence of the night_

The stars gleam and flicker from outside the window. Those stars, and the dim, red light from the clock are the only color being thrown onto her form. She sits in silence, in darkness, and listens to absolutely nothing. Not her thoughts, and not to her anger, and she especially blocks out the advice she knows Matilda would most likely be giving her at the moment.

"_I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding," _she'd say,_ "you need to trust him more."_

Darn her. Darn her and her stupid issue with trust.

The front door clicks open, and with an even more quiet noise, it shuts.

Like a rocket, Gillian is up from her immovable position, and throws open the door to the bedroom. With heavy, demanding steps, she strolls from down the hallway, until she is situated in full view, on the couch.

He walks in, and slips off his shoes, humming to himself an easy classical song.

"_Roddie_," she greets, her arms folded, and her chin pressing into them from over the couch. The tone holds none of the usual fondness she uses when saying the nickname. It sounds nearly as cold as the expression she wears.

Roderich, with a bristle of movement, attempts to catch his breath. He plasters on an easily faked smile, and places a hand over his heaving chest. "Why, Gillian," he breezily says, his form shivering from some unlikeable tremor. "You scared me!" He pulls off his jacket, and places it on the hook beside the door. Everything he does is a mechanical and unsteady movement, and his mind is racing faster than it all.

"Bastard," she replies, with an icy smile. She doesn't move, though she can feel her fingers twitch and her nose have the urge to scrunch. Are her eyes getting moist with emotion? She can't even tell, but she doesn't like it.

_Through all the tears_

He expresses surprise. "What?" Shaking, he messes with his hair, and then edits his glasses.

Gillian takes in the sight of badly washed off lipstick at the corner of his mouth, and the way his hair is mused far more recklessly then a long day at work could create. Suspicions confirmed, she feels an animalistic growl crawl up her mouth. "You're extremely late, asshole."

Though he is used to the other's cursing, the connotation makes him shudder. He messes with his collar, and feels the ghost fingers fondling it as well. He stops. "I-I was running late with a client, you see."

She sees through it like glass. "You're a damn pianist! You can't run late for nine fucking hours!

"I-It was an extremely hard s-song," he stutters.

With a roll of her eyes, she grumbles, "I'm sure that's not the only thing that was hard." She ducks down, sitting normally on the couch again.

All Roderich can see are the short, frizzy and silver curls of her hair sticking up from over the couch. He winces despite himself, and fumbles with his flexible fingers. Ungentlemanly curses flood over in his mind – cursing both himself and the Hungarian who had lured him into love and lust like a spider's web. But mostly, he curses himself, since it is his entire fault. He can't blame either of the girls. He moves forward to begin his apologies, but something else too sinister spills from his lips. "I don't know what you're accusing me of, Gillian, but it's extremely unsightly. Please try to keep your vulgar and assuming comments to yourself."

_And all the lies_

A stiffening wave makes her sit up straighter. She stands, and spins around in fury. "What the hell are you talking about?! I know you were out with some fucking whore, don't try to tell me differently. I know the signs." Her eyes flash and glare, begging him to defy her. Begging him to just admit his defeat, his weakness, his infidelity – and she might give him an ounce of forgiveness.

He begins getting infuriated as well. Those dirty words and names are not sitting well on his shoulders. Despite his own sins, he isn't about to let her insult someone who so easily slipped into his heart. "You watch your mouth, young lady," he disciplines, despite the only two-year age difference between them. The age difference doesn't make up for the five years they'd been together, either. "I will not have you talking to me like that." He is digging himself deeper – he sees it reflecting in her red eyes. Hell burns within them.

"Out," Gillian demands, her voice becoming as dull as her brother's. She points an unsteady finger toward the door. And as he looks upon her, in disbelief and in horror, she repeats it a bit louder. "Out!" The purple sleeves of her nightgown almost protest about the sudden movement she makes toward him.

Roderich fumbles, stepping backward, until he presses against the front door. "C-C-Can I at least g-get m-my –?"

"Out!" She screams, her voice cracks in displeasure, and a strain forms in her throat from the action. Her fingers curl around the neck of a lamp.

He shouts, a bit in distress and a bit in fear, and quickly says, "Al-Alright, I'm out! I-I'm out!" Roderich scrambles back, and can't figure out the door handle in his haste. It takes him a moment, but he finally manages to pull it open. In a slightly rebellious move – he doesn't feel like himself at all – he slams it behind him.

The door shudders, and a photograph placed on a tall shelf vibrates until it finally falls to the floor. It shatters against the tile before the door like a final farewell. Gillian knows the picture well, and she isn't about to pick it up.

"Pansy," she spits, shaking shamelessly, and finally settling on strangling the pillow to take out all of her emotions.

She pretends it is him.

_And it's alright_

* * *

Gillian didn't sleep for days after that. She didn't see hide or mole of Roderich, which she is completely content with. It serves the bastard, she thinks, but she is still restless. Caffeine becomes her ally and chocolate is her shoulder to cry on.

But within time, she becomes someone else's shoulder to cry on.

Almost an exact week after Roderich left, at twelve-thirteen at night, Gillian's door is lightly knocked upon. With a cocksure grin, she figures it is Roderich, finally showing up to bawl at her feet and complain how he couldn't go on without her. Slowly, and ever so surely, she rises and casually strides toward the door. With a slight laugh, she places her soda can on the table as she passes it. She doesn't pick up her pace: she wants to make him wait; make him whiter pathetically in his sorrow in front of her.

Gillian opens the door and grins. "Roddie, you sure are –" But she stops, gauging the purple eyes she is staring into.

They aren't Roderich's.

She hesitates. "Mattie…?"

"I'm s-so sorry for bothering you s-so late at n-night, but I have n-n-no where else to go!" Matilda refuses eye contact after the initial moment, shuffling her feet helplessly into the carpet of the apartment complex's hallway. "I… I can't go back. N-Not tonight, anyway. He's m-m-mad." She leaves no room for interjection. "May I c-come in?"

_Just give in_

With exaggerated nods, Gillian opens the door wide. But the guest doesn't enter immediately.

"…Why do you have shards of glass all over your floor? D-Did something happen?" Matilda looks up, hoping she isn't interrupting anything.

Gillian tells her to ignore it, and quietly escorts her around the shining pieces. She motions her toward the couch, and when the shorter sits down, she asks, "Do you need something to drink?"

"W-Water would be nice, thank you."

As Gillian fills up a glass, her foot taps in impatience. This isn't the first time Matilda had came over in the middle of the night, claiming she can't go back home. Last time – the first time – she had been in tears, so at least this doesn't seem as urgent.

Gillian strolls back into the room, and holds the glass out. She is about to question the other's presence, but Matilda has become quite skilled in bringing conversations off of herself.

_Don't give up, baby_

"So, where's Roderich? Didn't you two move in together?" Cheerily looking around, Matilda crosses her legs underneath herself and takes in the scene. Some tables are overturned, frames shattered and things torn. Her heart falls. She guesses, "…You guys got into a fight didn't you?"

Profusely shaking her head, Gillian denies it. "No, this destruction was all me taking out my anger. It's his stuff; he's going to have to pay for it." She adds under her breath, "Bastard." But then, she pulls on her strict smile. "Don't worry yourself over it." She waves a hand. "Now, why can't you stay at your house?" She knows the answer already.

_Open up your heart and your mind to me_

There is a pause, in which Matilda is reluctant to explain. A large, grandfather in the corner ticks down the seconds. It seems to be the only thing that hasn't been attacked. She wants to know more about Gillian and Roderich's mishap, and give advice, but she is more of a liability at the moment. She takes a sip of her drink, and says, "…Ivan's kind of… torn over something at work, I think. I don't know, it's the only thing clear he said when he came back. Then he started talking in Russian, so I had no idea. He seemed really upset, though." A slight shake overcomes her shoulders. "He kept staring at me, as if I had caused the problem, and I really wanted to get out of there. …Maybe I did cause the problem, I don't know."

Gillian scrunches up her nose. "He's a bastard, too, no offence." She shrugs. Men are getting on her nerves as of late.

_Just know when…_

Matilda laughs a bit, finding her friend's attempts at comfort humorous. "I-I know, Gill," she stutters. A heavy silence falls, and the shift in the conversation dramatically changes their dispositions. The blonde says, "…I really don't like when he gets like that, but it seems to happen a lot more often now. And he doesn't talk to me much. He just… looks at me like I'm some sort of… p-prize that he won, and s-sometimes he smiles in that creepy way of his." She swallows thickly, her tears pricking her focus. "I thought about leaving him, but… it feels like I'm stuck with him, you know? Like… he'll hurt me if I do anything to disrespect him." She laughs nervously. "Funny, right?"

"No, that's not funny at all," Gillian instantly replies, a twitch in her movements. "I think you need help, Mattie. You know, like, professional help. It seems that your relationship with Ivan's turned… unhealthy." She judges the reaction from the corner of her conscious.

Frantically, Matilda shakes her head. "N-No way," she cries. "I'm perfectly happy where I am! I can't… I can't… I couldn't…"

"But think about what you just told me!"

Matilda ponders for a moment, and nervously fingers the rim of her glass. When Gillian's hot gaze becomes too much, she looks away and downs most of the water.

…_that glass is empty…_

As Matilda places the finished cup on the table, she wipes her lips with the back of her wrist. A thin layer of water still swishes at the bottom.

Gillian gives a scowl in her friend's direction, before snatching up the glass and parading back into the kitchen. She rinses it out in the sink, despite the fact that nothing of flavor had been stored in it. She only needs to wring something between her hands. After a moment, she lets it clatter against the bottom. She steals a heavy breath, and marches back into the living room, her eyes alive with something unknown.

Timidly, Matilda looks up at her from under her eyelashes. Tears shine from either side of her face.

…_that the world is gonna bend_

After a moment, Matilda stutters, "…I-I'm s-sorry. I just c-can't… make any big decisions right now." She looks away, toward a broken piano, and her hand fiddles uncontrollably with her sleeve. "I kn-know that you're trying to help me, honest, but I j-just can't…"

Dismissing any thought of anger at the shaking stammer, Gillian sits back down and pats her friend's head. "Fine." She says it again. "Fine! That's fine. But I'm here, mmkay? Just remember that." Her voice doesn't convey persuasion.

_Be your best friend_

Matilda manages a smile. "Thank you, Gill, really." She gives a laugh, just to assure her friend that she is going to be okay. "I don't know what I'd do without you!" She grabs the hands on her head, and cradles them between her fingers. "You've been so kind to me." The contact is momentary. Soon, Matilda lets the hands go. Her necklace glimmers in the light after every move she makes.

Gillian chuckles, and it is a low sound. She shakes her head. "Nah, my awesomeness is all natural. You'd be stuck with me anyway." She closes her eyes for a moment, releasing a deep sigh from her nose.

_Yeah, I'll love you forever_

"Oh," Matilda says, the hint of a frown flowing into her voice. "Sorry, I forgot. I woke you up, didn't I? Sorry." Wincing, she looks toward the clock. It has been forty-five minutes since she had first arrived at her friend's door. She opens her mouth to add another apology, but Gillian changes the subject completely.

"Hey, Mattie," she asks, opening her eyes, and looking out of the corner of them. "How did you get here, anyway? You live six blocks away, and you don't have your car keys with you…" A bead of suspicion rises.

Matilda seems reluctant to say at first. But finally, she swallows her fear and admits, "I kinda walked…" She quickly adds, "It was only a half hour w-walk!"

As if she had been shocked, Gillian wrenches herself forward, and sits at the edge of the couch. "Are you crazy?! There are millions of creepers out there, looking for women like you in the middle of the night!"

_Up in the clouds_

Almost loudly, Matilda defends herself with, "What else was I supposed to do?! Ask Ivan to drive me over? No way. Grab a taxi? I don't have the money, you know that." She falls backward, pressing against the couch, as if she is trying to fade into it. "Walking's free, and exercise doesn't hurt anyone." She realizes how she hadn't been thinking of the danger when she left – her only thought had been upon seeing her friend. "…It's not like I'd get grabbed, anyway."

Appalled, Gillian cries, "Yeah, sorry to break it to ya, but you would have!"

Matilda mumbles something in response that isn't heard.

_We'll be higher than ever_

Another silence falls on them, like a suffocating blanket intent on murder.

Gillian smacks a hand to her forehead. She invites, "…Since that aristocratic bastard's not here, you don't have to sleep on the couch."

Matilda doesn't seem ready to give up. "…What happen between you two, anyway? You didn't say…"

She doesn't respond for a while. She needs to find a way to say it simply and shortly, without the normal dramatics she sees on television. In a calm voice, she says, "…He came home nine hours late from work, lipstick smeared all over his face and his clothes messed up. He even had the balls to lie to me, so I kicked his sorry ass out." Gillian shrugs. "I haven't seen him for a week now."

With the upmost sympathy, Matilda gasps, "I'm so sorry!"

"I don't even care anymore," she replies.

_And it's alright_

* * *

Because they both want to pick themselves back up and onto their feet, Gillian arranges a girl's-night-out for her and Matilda. Despite the fact that it isn't even a fancy place they are going to, Gillian plans on looking as best as she can to pick up catcalls and lusty stares.

That will make Roderich jealous, even if he isn't there to see it, she is convinced.

_I am as vain as I allow_

She pulls out a hairbrush she hasn't used for years (usually, just a comb satisfies her short hair), and begins fiddling with it. She tries to find just the right angle to get her hair as soft as possible.

After all, no one will stare if it doesn't shine.

_I do my hair_

When Gillian finishes, she clips a simple gold barrette to the left side of her scalp for effect. It creates dynamics, or something. She doesn't know, she just thinks it looks nice with her low-cut yellow blouse (not that she has much to show off, but…). And then, she pulls out a little case that she had gotten as a present long ago, but never used. _Eyeshadow_. What is the appeal of it, anyway? It is like dirt behind someone's eyes…

But, she figures, if it will attract attention, she can sacrifice a bit of pride.

_I gloss my eyes_

As Gillian stands, she smiles at how nice her skirt flows with the sudden breeze. She is probably going to get at least one person trying to look up it, but too bad for them!

She skips a bit, listening to her high heels click and clack. Luckily, she has amazing balance, and is able to remain on her feet.

All at once, she hears an extremely loud noise from her living room, and a shout.

Matilda wouldn't enter her house without permission… and she is the only one Gillian is expecting… is she being robbed?

_And when something falls out of place_

"Shit," she curses, rolling her eyes. It sets her off-schedule, but she is sure Mattie will forgive her later. Easily, she plucks a wooden baseball bat from behind her doorway, and listens as more exclamations reach her ears. Her heart actually jumps slightly, but she knows she can handle herself.

On light, silent toes, she creeps around the corner, with the bat over her shoulder, completely ready to attack. It takes her a while to get to her main room (silence takes time), but when she reaches it, she isn't prepared for what welcomes her.

Gillian's bat drops, and the clattering that issues alerts her presence to the visitor.

Roderich spins around, his eyes lighting in anger. "Was this all your fault?!" He asks in a scream, motioning to the demolished remnants of his apartment. "Did you go on a blood-lust rampage again, completely forgetting that _someone's_ going to have to pay for all of this?!" He seems rather cleaned-up: his hair is wet, and slick against his skull. His shirt is pressed, and fine. His shoes shine.

In a rush, Gillian bends down to pick up the bat again. "I'm warning you," she shouts, "I'm not afraid to use this!"

"Drop the act, Gillian," Roderich warns darkly, expressing no amusement.

_I take my time_

He sighs, suppressing his anger for a moment to remember why he is there in the first place. "…I've come to tell you that it's over between us," he admits, solemnly.

"Well no dip, Sherlock," she taunts.

Roderich glares. "I'm moving in with someone else, so you can keep this dingy place. But mind you, you're going to have to pay for it from now on…" He looks on in distaste at the horror that used to be his home. "I'm coming for my things later, and all damages I expect you to compensate for." He adjusts his tie, tightening it around his neck.

Gillian creates fantasies of strangling him with it.

"Anything you have to say, Gillian?" he questions, with a bit more interest than expected.

Gillian heavily says, "I just hope I never have to see your cheating face again, asshole." She raises the bat above her head, but Roderich gets the idea.

_I put it back_

* * *

Matilda is sitting there, against the bar, when Gillian arrives. It was just as she figures. She curses out her ex-boyfriend for making her late in her mind. But something is there that she doesn't expect.

Instead of those cute little sweaters, Matilda is shrouded in an over-sized red hoodie, and her back is arched. She seems to already be on her third glass of beer, despite it being only seven o'clock.

Which is weird. Gillian didn't know that she drank.

"Another one, please," Matilda hiccups to the bartender, unaware that her friend is approaching. Yet another tall glass is tossed in front of her, and she grins thankfully. The tap on her shoulder makes her stiffen. She turns, wide-eyed, only to find Gillian standing there. She relaxes. "Oh, it's you." She doesn't sound surprised, but she isn't happy either.

_Just give in_

After a moment of letting the scene sink in – maybe she is dreaming? – Gillian demands, "What happened to you?!"

"Why do you think something happened to me?" Matilda drawls, still hunched over, and still not meeting her friend's eyes.

"'Cause you look like crap," is the honest response.

"Well, that's not – _hic_ – very nice, now is it, young lady?" She asks, with a loopy smile.

_Young lady._ Gillian cringes at the term. "How many… drinks have you had?" she asks, bewildered.

Matilda holds up two fingers. "Only four," she answers.

_Don't give up, baby_

"…Eight," the bartender corrects. "She's been here for half an hour."

Horrified, Gillian groans. "Why did you give her that many?!" she asks of the bartender.

He has already turned away.

She moans, and turns to her friend. "What the hell happened?" She demands again.

_Open up your heart and your mind to me_

Her head lolls to the side, and Matilda presses her cheek to the countertop. She begins, with her eyes closed in rebellion, "Ivan's – _hic_ – such a bastard. You were right, Gill. I shouldn't stay with him. I don't love him; he – _hic_ – doesn't love me! We didn't belong together in the first place. But… I don't know what I did wrong!" Her words become a bit more slurred. "Just two hours ago, he came home early from work, saying how he was fired and – _hic_ – shit, and looking at me like I personally got him fired!" She cries again, "The bastard!"

_Just know when…_

Matilda sticks out her tongue at nothing at particular. She wildly grips the beer, and chugs most of it down before Gillian pulls it away.

"Meanie," she says.

"You're drunk enough," Gillian grumbles.

…_that glass is empty…_

Seemingly remembering that she had been talking, Matilda hiccups and continues from where she left off. "And so he begins talking in fucking Russian a – _hic_ – gain, and starts hitting me like a punching bag!" Her admission is drowned out by the rest of the bar's unearthly din.

Gillian's heart trips and her eyes widen. Before she can say anything, the blonde is off again.

…_that the world is going to bend_

"That goes on for a whole half an hour. Fuck, I'm so – _hic_ – tired. But anyway, he leaves in a big storm – everything about him's always been big – and he leaves me there, crying on the bed. Then I remembered my – _hic_ – meeting with you, so I knew I couldn't stand you up! Best friends don't do that!" She laughs as if something is funny. Her eyes shine, but there are no tears left. "So anyway, I put on this goofy sweatshirt that I love, so I could hide everything, and came here. But you were late, missy!" She unsteadily sits up, and waggles her finger in a disciplining manner. "So I got all drunk and stuff, so my whole – _hic_ – plan was ruined! Oh gosh, I hate being drunk. I'm never going to do this again!" Matilda bends over in laughter, almost hitting her head off of the counter.

Gillian fixes her hands to her friend's arm (carefully, since she doesn't know where the bruises are) and pries her from the stool. "I am taking you home," she says, managing to speak without emotion, without her voice wavering, "and making sure you're okay." Realizing the other can't really stand, she loops her arm around her waist. Just as they begin to precariously walk, Matilda breaks the calm.

With a giggle, the blonde trails a finger across the side of Gillian's face. "Oh, you're _so_ hot when you're all heroic-like! You're l-like my own – _hic _– little prince!" She laughs. "Trying to save me from the evils of walking, oh – _hic_ – no!"

Gillian flushes, and her heart stutters as badly as Matilda's speech. "Mattie," she warns, successfully making it out of the building, out onto a cold and empty street. It is already dark. "You don't know what you're saying! You're drunk, stupid."

"I am not drunk," she whines, despite her earlier admission. Every move hurts her. "I know what I'm talking about, honey!" Sloppily, she kisses the other's cheek, and has to step on the tips of her toes to do so. "You're too cute!" Getting off-balance, she nearly falls forward.

_Be your best friend_

Gillian catches her. With an annoyed growl, she pulls her toward an alley-way.

"Now you're going to kiss the daylights out of me, aren't you~?"

"Shut up, Mattie," Gillian harshly demands, though she still holds onto her. "Just calm down, okay? I needed to get you out of the public, 'cause good God, you were making a scene." She manages to pull out her purple phone, despite the hands that suddenly crawl around her neck. "I-I'm calling my friend Antonio to pick us up."

"Whatever you want, sweetie," Matilda purrs.

Gillian gets the answering machine. She doesn't have time to leave a message, so she angrily hangs up and dials up her brother. He never has anything to do on a Saturday night. "_Bruder_? _Bruder_, yes it's me. … I need you to pick me and my friend up, she got drunk and I can't carry her. … It doesn't matter what we were doing, okay?! Just pick us up, dammit! We're beside the usual bar, okay? I'll flag you down when I see you." And she hangs up, without thanking her sibling.

Matilda is messing with her shirt, and Gillian doesn't like it. She shoos her hands away. "Mattie, you're fucking drunk. Stop it. Ludwig's coming to get us, so just be patient, okay?" Her eyes soften, just a bit. "So when we get back to my apartment, I can make you're alright."

_Yeah, I'll love you forever._

"Just as long as you let me take my clothes off myself~!"

Gillian's cheeks explode in color.

Matilda appears thoughtful for a moment. As she speaks, she twirls a strand of Gillian's hair between her fingers. "…You know what? I'm not usually so flirty like this, you know."

"I know," Gillian mumbles.

"I think I get it from my dad, seriously! He was always flirting with everyone, all the time! Anyone, too, he was bisexual. It's where – _hic_ – people say I got my tendencies, too. I dunno. People are weird!"

That is the first time Gillian has heard anything from Matilda's mouth about her father. It is a one-in-a-lifetime experience.

"Anyway." Matilda hiccups. "On his deathbed, do you want to know what Papa told me?" She clears her throat, as if preparing for a speech. "'Matilda', he says, 'remember that locket you got so long ago? Well, I know you haven't been wearing it, but that's okay.' He plays with my hair." Tears begin spilling over in Matilda's eyes. "'Well, if you do – _hic_ – open it, you'll find a picture of me and your mother in it. The locket has been passed down through generations. If you put a photo of yourself, and your loved one within it, legend has it that you'll be with them forever. And, it came true for me!'" She seems to e reciting word for word. She even imitates his heart chuckle. Without warning, she presses her face against Gillian's shoulder, and more tears fall. "'So, after I'm – _hic_ – long gone…'" She stops, and then tries again. "'S-S-So when I'm long g-gone, I want you to take it, and put a picture of you and your special person in it. But you don't have to be hasty!' He took my hands, and I remember how – _hic_ – c-c-cold they were. 'I want you to make sure that this person is the right person for you, okay?'

"I promised him I would, and I did." She lifts her head, staring blearily up at her friend. "You want to know who I put in there?" Her fingers play with the golden piece of jewelry, a fond smile breaking her trails of tears.

Gillian sees her brother's familiar headlights pull up (they were always the brightest – he changed them way too often). For a moment, she hesitates, and then takes her friend's hands. "Come on, Mattie. My brother's here. I can take you home now…"

_Up in the clouds_

Matilda is resistant. She shakes her head and cries, "No, I want to show you!"

With a heavy sigh, Gillian waves to her brother and mouths, 'I'll be there in a moment', but she's not sure if he can see her between the darkness. She gives into Matilda's pleas, telling herself not to get her hopes up. "Who did you put in there, hm?"

In her state of inebriation, Matilda has trouble with the clasp. Before her eyes, two of them seem to form. "I can't…" She hiccups. "I can't… urgh, get it!" The tears that flow down her face sudden quicken in their pace. "Why can't I get it?"

Suddenly impatient, Gillian lightly grabs her arm, and pulls her down toward the car. "Because I told you, you're drunk as hell! You can't even handle eight drinks." She sighs quietly in disappointment – her personal record is twenty-seven drinks before she passes out.

_We'll be higher than ever_

As she's pushed into the car, Matilda pouts and continues messing with it. Moments after the car begins driving off, she can't even remember why she's doing it anymore. So she stops, but her frown is still firm.

Gillian whines to her brother, "I swear I didn't get her drunk to 'see what would happen'! Mattie's my friend."

He rolls her eyes, unconvinced. Then, he moans, catching something in the rear-view mirror. "Oh, you got her drunk enough to make her black out! How are you going to explain this to her when she wakes up?"

"She's not –" Her denial is cut short, as she feels a weight press itself to her side. She looks down, startled to see Matilda comfortably snuggled into her side. A small smile twists her lips, and she pats the other's hair.

As Matilda shifts, Gillian registers a soft 'click'.

When she looks down, she sees how Matilda's locket has fallen open, revealing its occupants.

She's only a bit surprised to see her own high school picture staring back at her.

_And it's alright_

* * *

**A/N**: Lyrics used are from: _**So Happy I Could Die**_** by Lady Gaga**. I edited the lyrics.

I admit, I took this and morphed it twenty levels bigger than I planned it to be. It was just supposed to be one of those awkward secret-lovers-but-are-caught-in-other-relationships things, and there was even supposed to be a kiss, but then I got Mattie drunk.

And everything went downhill from there, seriously.

It only fit with the song for the first few parts, actually!

-fails-

…And I used two pairings on the side that I barely even like (Russia/Canada and Austria/Prussia). But ah well…

Ultimately, this whole story was a whole fail thing, I think. It's weird, too!!!

…And I strayed from the main plot… like... three times…

-dies-

This was inspired by **kaliona**'s Prussia/Canada fanmix on LiveJournal. It's a really good mix; I'll link you if you're interested!

Okay, as for the names: I got _Gillian_ from **.Authoress** (who gave me permission). She has awesome genderbender fanfictions, so go read them now! (If you do, it'll act like bleach to what you just read) and I think I saw _Matilda_ used somewhere, but I can't remember… I like the name, anyway. :)

**R&R~!**


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